Darkness Falls
by Mickleditch
Summary: Flash fic. During the occupation of Deep Space Nine, Odo and Weyoun have an uncomfortable conversation.


Disclaimer: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and all characters belong to Rick Berman, Michael Piller, Gene Roddenberry and Paramount.

* * *

Entering Weyoun's quarters gave Odo reason to hesitate.

It was not simply because he disliked thinking of them as Weyoun's quarters; he disliked thinking of any part of the station as being the property once more - however temporary - of the Dominion or the Cardassians. Rather, how dark it was in there briefly disorientated him until he relaxed his grip on his humanoid pattern a little and allowed his other senses to take predominance. There were shapes and outlines, where the starlight gave illumination, but little more, and in the furthest corners of the room it was pitch black. He had received a polite, almost apologetic request from Weyoun to examine the security logs, but now he wondered if the Vorta were asleep instead. Privately, Odo thought that it seemed unlikely. He often suspected that Weyoun's entire day was structured around any meetings between the Vorta and himself, and, as unsettled as the intensity of that focus made him, it also gave Odo himself a certain indirect power over their occupiers which had, at times, been of use.

Had he not already become aware of Weyoun's approaching presence, he might have started. As it was, he raised his brows a little. "Are you having a problem with the lights in here? Or do you have a problem with maintenance coming in?"

Weyoun's habit of deliberately avoiding a direct gaze until Odo initiated the same, and then holding it near-obsessively, was disconcerting. As always, he seemed torn between the discomfort of even mildly correcting a Founder, and a nervous kind of joy in the opportunity to share something about himself, some hitherto unknown aspect, with Odo. "The Vorta are naturally a nocturnal species. We have adapted, of course, in order to serve the Founders as we must, but it is tiring, after a while." He gestured around them a little, suggesting distance with the vagueness. "All the light... the noise. Keeping our living quarters dark whenever possible is more relaxing. Vorta vision is very much superior in the dark."

"I see."

A look of concern flitted across Weyoun's features, as if he were suddenly gripped by a fear that he had shown disrespect. "Would you prefer a light, Founder?"

Odo's voice was edged with ice. "I would _prefer_ 'Constable'. Or simply 'Odo'."

He saw Weyoun visibly wince. "Of course... Odo."

"And, no. I can manage as well as you can." Odo paused, and then sighed. "It doesn't make very much difference to me."

"How remarkable the Founders are!"

Odo's warning was in his frown. "Weyoun."

"My apologies." Without turning his back to Odo, Weyoun picked up a PADD from the table. "If it is of no inconvenience to you, I would like to go over your logs and crime reports for the past week. It is very important that we closely monitor all activity on the station. The Dominion are well aware that not all personnel who remain here have such friendly relations with us as yourself and Major Kira do. Or are as co-operative."

A feeling wormed in the pit of Odo as he arranged himself in a chair, one that he had experienced on more than one occasion since Deep Space Nine had fallen. It was bitter and deeply unpleasant, moving in him like the onset of a sickness. He wondered if _co-operation_ was the word that Kira would feel fitted. Or would she choose _collaboration?_ At what point did they cross over the line? When would their acceptance change from being what they must do, to an active choice? Odo wondered this, as he looked at the back of Weyoun's head, the white, slender, suddenly intensely snappable curve of his neck, bent over the PADD, and he realized as he did that his greatest fear was that it had already changed.

"I suppose," he said, "that your diplomatic talents were something that the Founders engineered in you."

Weyoun shifted, as though the statement made him uncomfortable. He showed intense dislike of any phrasing that seemed to reduce the changelings and their actions to something base, something less than miraculous and all-giving. "I assume so, yes, but the Founders have implied that there are skills that are innate to us as a species."

"Some very useful ones. No doubt attractive to the Founders."

Weyoun inclined his head.

"I would have thought that your natural activity patterns should have been something relatively simple for the Founders to adjust. So that life could be easier for you. And so that you could better _serve_ them. Surely the performance of a species with poor eyesight must be impacted. A serious oversight on the Founders' part, don't you think?"

Weyoun's expression froze, almost imperceptibly. Then, just as quickly, it smoothed itself out again into its usual, carefully tactful arrangement. "My... shortcomings in no way affect my ability to carry out my assigned duties. I'm certain that the Founders' decision was the correct one. The Vorta have always trusted them to know what is best for us. They saved us." He did not lift his head, but his fingers stilled on the PADD. "They saved us," he repeated. "As many as they were able to take."

"From the Vorta homeworld?"

"The Vorta had once given aid to a Founder," Weyoun said. Suddenly, he sounded as though he could have been talking to himself as much as to Odo; as if he were re-telling some long-beloved story of which the words never changed. "In the past. They were aware of our planet; of our presence. And, then - disaster struck us. The Founders learned that one of our suns was dying. The radiation it would subject Kurill Prime to when it turned supernova would cause unimaginable devastation to life on the planet. We could not help ourselves. We had no technology; we were primitive. But the Founders kept the promise they had made, that they would be our saviors who would make us greater than we had ever dreamed. The Founders came back for us."

At last, after what seemed like a long period, he looked up. Where the glow through the windows picked out his face, his eyes were blazingly blue. "That is the benevolence of the Dominion, Odo. That is the wisdom of your people."

Odo folded his arms, watching him, closely. "Have any of the Vorta ever returned to Kurill Prime?" he asked.

"We are forbidden by the Founders to approach the system, or to study it. It would not be beneficial in any way to our advancement."

"But shouldn't you attempt to investigate for yourself what the Founders have told you?"

Weyoun spread his hands. "A Vorta would never doubt what the gods have told us to be true."

The submissive, palms-upwards gesture was both tiresomely familiar and repulsive now. Odo had never wanted to be worshiped, and if he had, it would not have been by someone given no choice in the matter; who worshiped simply because it was coded into his genome to do so. The Vorta were no better than the Jem'Hadar, he thought. Perhaps they were worse, because while a Jem'Hadar essentially functioned as little other than a machine, the Vorta appeared to Odo to have willfully opted not to question that which, to any sentient being, invited so many questions. He had the abrupt conviction that, as strongly as Weyoun believed, he also _wanted_ to believe; had a ravenous need to believe which his very existence rested upon, and without which, he would utterly shatter.

They regarded each other for another moment, and then Weyoun smiled. No seam; a perfect mask. "Perhaps we could leave the lights off for a little longer. I find it very restful on the eyes."

"Has it ever occurred to you, Weyoun, that the Founders may have a vested interest in keeping you blind?"

Weyoun's silence, for a negotiator, lasted an unusually long time.


End file.
